


A Question of Time

by FortuneSurfer



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Deal with a supernatural being, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Matthew Is A Fairy, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15340869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortuneSurfer/pseuds/FortuneSurfer
Summary: After his imprisonment, Will’s dreams get more and more unusual.





	A Question of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Achtung: not beta read.

After his encephalitis has been treated, Will is put into Chilton’s hospital, and his life is reduced to waiting. On the best days, it’s the waiting of a fisherman already cast his lure, on all the others - it’s exhausting inactivity on the shore of the river of events.

 

He waits for his visitors, he waits for his guards to bring him to the cage and back to his cell, he waits for the trays with food and for the escort to the showers. Waits for his memories of betrayal to return to him and for the chance to promise a reckoning, while also waiting for his trial, which will inevitably find him guilty.

 

Will waits, but sometimes it seems to him that there is nothing to wait for, since everything he could have saved is already taken away by the past. This is why his mind keeps returning to the things he lost - most often to Abigail and to everything he couldn’t give her - in reality and in his dreams.

 

And Will’s dreams get more and more unusual. For instance, he has almost never dreamt of confined spaces before…

  


…Will thinks that the place he is walking around must be an antiquity shop. At least, he has the feeling that the things which surround him have tales to tell. Will’s eyes move over the stuff standing, hanging and lying all over the shop, but no matter how much he struggles to recognize the things right in front of him, they remain in the blind spot of his perception.

 

Will freezes at one of the showcases and tries to, at the very least, catch the form of the article that is escaping his concentration, when he hears a creak of a floorboard behind his back.

 

Will uses the sound to finally say something - he was aware that someone has been watching him.  

 

Will turns around: “Where are we?”

 

In the corner of the room where the sound came from stands a desk, a well-worn but cozy-looking chair with a tall back, and something Will first takes for a music stand, but then realizes that it is an empty perch for a big bird. And there is a man.

 

Athletic, pale, young, he wears a green waistcoat and a bow-tie just as green; both pieces of clothing make him look like a croupier.

 

He isn’t the kind of character Will would expect to see in his subconsciousness.

 

They study each other for a while, then the man softy inquires: “How did you get here?”

 

Will spreads his arms in a helpless gesture.

 

“I just found myself here.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

Will considers asking him about the exit, but loses the intention as he insensibly concentrates on the captivating eyes of his company. He has an unwinking, unbecomingly penetrating look, which is inspecting Will with some wild entrancement.

 

Will tries to continue the conversation:

 

“Excuse me, are you the owner?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“And what exactly are you selling?”

 

“Everybody needs something different.” The man tilts his head, Will notices that he has pointy ears. “What are you looking for?”

 

Will turns around to distract himself from the other’s attention.

 

He makes a couple of steps along the shelves the content of which still doesn’t settle in his mind, reminding him that no matter how realistic the scene feels this is just a dream. The agent of his subconsciousness doesn’t rush him, and Will tries to probe the question he’s been asked.

 

He gives in to the mirthless impulse to press his lips into a crooked grin and say the truth: “Justice.”

 

It appears to Will that his company finds his honest answer attractive when he replies just as honestly:

 

“I’m sorry I can’t give it to you.”

 

Will thinks about how he by and by got adjusted to the idea that he can rely only on himself, but the man continues his thought in a courteous tone:

 

“But I could give you something which will enable you to get your justice.”

 

Will half-turns to him, raising an eyebrow in overt doubt. The man walks towards him, his movements relaxed and smooth. Will registers that he doesn’t feel any antipathy. Probably, because the eccentricity of the other’s behavior feels genuine, natural. He had felt something close to this about Hannibal’s pompous conduct. Before he found out about his other natural inclinations.

 

Will says:

 

“My friend is already looking for a legal representation for me,” assuming that he’ll be offered some lawyer’s visit card.

 

The man stops in front of him, without violating the boundaries of his personal space. And even though he is shorter that Will, Will has the feeling that the man is looming over him when he explains, allowing his voice to fade into a whisper:

 

“I can give you time.”

 

Will doesn’t immediately realize that the words don’t make sense.

 

“Where I must be right now, I have all the time in the world,” he says, omitting the part in which he relatively soon gets sentenced to death for the crimes he didn’t commit.  

 

“I’m talking about the time that was taken from you.”

 

Will involuntarily clenches his hands into fists.

 

“How do you…?”

 

A quick grabbing movement in proximity to his nose makes Will start.

 

“Look.”

 

Will squints at the bent fingers hanging inches away from his face. He knits his brows at the look of the nails of the other - they are long, black, with a bend, like the claws of a bird of prey. He looks closer and sees that there is a semi-transparent, glossy film clinging to the sharp rounded tips.

 

It appears from the space around him, like a polyvinyl glue pulled from the air.

 

“Your aura bears traces of a curse, sir,” the man concludes and spreads his fingers.

 

The film disappears. Nausea washes over Will from the realization that the film returned to being a part of him.

 

He swallows.

 

“And you can lift this curse?”

 

“The one who did this has a great influence," the man says and raises his eyebrows. "You’re lucky I’m magnificent in this sort of things.”

 

Will considers this, then licks his lips.

 

“And what would you want from me in exchange for such a favor?”

 

The man blinks and gives him a tender lopsided smile.

 

“The pleasure of your company.”

 

As soon as he says it, Will decides that it has been obvious somehow. Strangely, he feels neither protest, nor embarrassment - on contrary, he unexpectedly discovers that he is intrigued.

 

“Well, if communication through the bars of my cell in a tapped psychiatric hospital will satisfy you…”

 

Will isn’t sure he isn’t flirting.

 

“I dare to believe you’re going to use your new time more efficiently.”

 

The man takes another step to him, without letting him go with his eyes, and maintaining eye-contact with him is easier for Will than avoiding it. His own voice reaches him from far away:

 

“Do I have to sign something?”

 

“No. But I have to take something from you as a guarantee. Nothing that wouldn’t be exclusively desirable. It’s a standard procedure. Do you consent?”

 

Will nods.

  
“Yes.”

 

Everything gets dark, flapping of wings grows and grows in his ears.

  


He wakes up with a sensation of thin lips on his own mouth, but the feeling slips away almost immediately. Someone’s knocking on the door. Will gets out of bed in a dark room and tramps to the entrance barefooted.

 

Outside, the day is shining. Hannibal stands on the threshold, with a leather gripsack. Cheerful and fresh.

 

“Good morning, Will. May I come in?”

 

Will remembers this. Will remembers _everything_.


End file.
